


Kantanaiterasu

by woefulPotatoes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, though it doesnt factor in very much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:09:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23193742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woefulPotatoes/pseuds/woefulPotatoes
Summary: He stood at the other side of the room, fresh returned from the bath, hair damp and tied away with a deliberate carelessness surely meant to entice me into something improper. His skin was glowing after the heat of the water, and nothing adorned his athletic figure but a short towel.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 3
Kudos: 64





	Kantanaiterasu

**Author's Note:**

> This is effectively a timestamp for a Sherlock Holmes AU that I have yet to finish, and which I don't see myself finishing anytime soon, but I wanted to post _something_. So, there may be some emotional context that's missing, but, assuming most of you just came for the smut, then it should be okay.
> 
> edit: fyi, the fic that this is based on has changed a lot in the time that this was posted, so there may be some inconsistencies with Darling is the Word of a Desperate Man, and as well may contain spoilers. Once Darling is done, I'm gonna revise and put everything into one series

He stood at the other side of the room, fresh returned from the bath, hair damp and tied away with a deliberate carelessness surely meant to entice me into something improper. His skin was glowing after the heat of the water, and nothing adorned his athletic figure but a short towel. I stood from my desk and went over to him, skirting a hand over his lower back, the inside of a forearm, guiding him silently to my room. He hesitated in the doorway, so I took his hand in mine.

“Perhaps we should save this for another time,” I suggested, but a shy grin overtook Ferdinand’s features.

“You will not be rid of me so easily.”

“I do not wish to hurt you. Ever again.”

He took me in a powerful embrace, halfway lifting me off the floor, face buried in my shoulder, the flowery scent of his soap instantly comforting.

“I know that it is wrong,” he quietly intoned, “but I would forgive you. Nothing – not the war, not the cruel waves of the crashing sea, not the hot searing sun nor a vast fearful darkness – would keep me from you.” He kissed my jawline and to the shell of my ear, the subdued rhythm of his words vibrating into my chest as though I were speaking them as well, “In the stillness of a moonlit room, I think of the shape of you, each moment you encompass, and slowly, the lines between who you are and what I am come together; and I feel like I could know myself for the first time. You have my soul. Not because you would take it, but because I give it willingly.”

The soft trail of Ferdinand’s lips had stolen all movement from me, his ardent declaration, the very air from my lungs. I felt as though an existence pared down to a mere beating heart, drawn to him as unfailingly as the earth is to the sun. I chanced a shallow breath, and it was a constricting pressure in my chest nearly painful.

“I have no need for goodness, but if there was ever any good in me,” I croaked, “it was because of you.”

Ferdinand took my scarred hands and kissed the inside of my wrist one at a time, head bowed and coppery hair tickling my arms. He leaned into me, bare legs pushing between mine, until I was shuffled back to the bed. He pulled me down, hair escaping from its restraint, white towel falling from his body with the grace of unfurling wings: an orchid in full bloom. I relished in the sweetness of his skin, the pillow of his chest, biting hungry kisses up his neck. He gripped tightly onto the cushion at his head, his pulse fluttering under my lips as I spoke.

“Will you tell me? When I go too far.”

“I will.”

I produced a vial from my trouser pocket, uncorked it, and poured a liberal amount of its slick contents upon my hand, leaning over Ferdinand to plant a kiss at his mouth. His patience broke, and he let the pillow free with a soft moan, cupping my face in his hands so gently I felt my heart palpitate.

“Spread your legs,” I spoke into his skin, and immediately he obeyed. I kissed him again, harder this time, as I ran three dripping fingers up the cleft of his rear and the underside of his cock. He gave a surprised hiccough as I did so, unable to keep me in his grip as I pulled away from him, corking the glass once again.

“ _Hubert_ ,” he whined, moving to sit up, but I stopped him with a hand at his chest.

“Open yourself for me.”

I relished in the shiver that coursed through him at my request, and he lay back obediently. His long hair like waves upon the pristine sheets, a blush at his cheeks, body dusted with freckles. The round scar on his shoulder, the cuts on his arms, the slices under his right breast, all serving to amplify his beauty, shining slivers of moonlight on the constellations of his skin. I revelled at his open legs, his pink cock half-flush and laid over the crook of his hip, the planes of his stomach, and the strong hands that slowly came downwards. With one, he took himself loosely while the other reached tenderly below and circled his rim teasingly light. The air in the room warmed, and I shed my waistcoat, standing to drape it over the vanity chair. I returned to sit upon the bed, my legs overhanging, my body turned towards Ferdinand at the head of it.

He had begun stroking himself shallowly, dipping a wet finger into himself to the first knuckle, letting out a contented sigh as he did so. His eyes had been focused wholly on me, even as I made my short trip across the room. My heart raced at the thought, and I leaned heavily on my supporting arm to mask my shudder of excitement, but a smug little grin grew on his face as I watched him, sure in the knowledge that I was completely enraptured.

His gaze slid down to my hand upon the bed, then the other at my lap, the tent in my trousers, and his leisurely pace quickened. His single digit plunged in and out at a regular measure, his cock flush and beading at the tip, breathing deepened and rich. I kneaded the heel of my hand against myself, attempting to dispel some discomfort there, then took the vial again and poured the rest over him. Thick and glistening, it flowed over his heated flesh, the empty glass forgotten in the folds of the bedclothes. I thought to guide him, fill himself further, but just at the cusp of speaking, he slid a second finger in beside the first, down to the last knuckle, as though he had divined my very thoughts. He licked his lower lip and bit there softly, and I found I could not help but mirror the action. The ache for action grew, but I could not move, could not let a single moment of Ferdinand’s pleasure escape my notice.

At length, his eyes dropped nearly closed, a mere sliver of golden light reflecting through his haze of debauchery. His fingers became more frantic, stretching and scissoring at his reddened rim before diving deep to rub at that sensitive nerve inside himself. He jolted, hips lifting so slightly off the bed, legs opening ever wider, struggling to find greater access, the fisted hand at his cock swift and desperate.

I inched forward, laying my hands over his knees, his eyes flying open but hands never faltering in their intent. I pushed him down flush with the bed, powerful thighs flexing under my weight, and he let out a long pleasured sigh at the stretch. I slid my left hand reverently over him, cupped at the seam of his hip, thumb caressing tender skin, the vulnerable artery beneath. The right I moved toward his wet hole, into which, Ferdinand had added a third thick digit. At this angle, he struggled to push in as deeply as before, letting out frustrated noises, even as the hand upon his cock quickened. I circled my middle finger around his fluttering rim, minding not to hinder his own jerking movements, and Ferdinand moaned and nodded his head frantically, infinitesimally.

“ _Yes_ ,” he rasped, “ _please, Hubert_.”

I plunged my finger in, immediately searching for his prostate, heart jumping in my chest as Ferdinand arched fully off the bed, a gasping moan torn from his lips, brow furrowed, eyes clamped shut. The hand at his cock stuttered, erratic, mind too overwhelmed by orgasm to remember how to move. The fingers in his ass clenched around mine and held me there, pressed deep in his soft heat. He shook bodily as the sensation washed over him, finally releasing a thick rope over his fevered chest. I slid another finger in even as his own slipped out, massaging gently as he slowly came down, and he could muster nothing besides a weak mewling at my purposeful ministrations. I moved up and balanced on a forearm, hovering over Ferdinand to lay kisses on his panting chest. I licked at his spent seed, rolled a pink nipple over my teeth until it was red and perked.

“You’re getting it in your hair,” he whispered, and with a delicate hand, combed the bangs from my face. I leaned into the touch, achingly affectionate, lost in the wellspring of love in his eyes.

I chased after his mouth again, trailing deft fingertips up his side, feeling every tiny dip between ribs, past his shoulder and down his arm, to rest a palm over his, intertwining our hands, just as our tongues were intertwined.

“Mmm, Hu-mm, _Hubert_...” he panted, “your hands….”

“I am aware,” I rumbled, and I pressed into his prostate again for emphasis.

Ferdinand squirmed around my fingers, knees involuntarily coming together to leverage me out from between them. I moved his legs up and aside, and he easily went, limp and oversensitive, still working in to him, pulling at his loosened rim. I watched as my three digits slid effortlessly, disappearing into him, pulling out again. I couldn’t help a long rut over the side of his hip, my cock so long neglected.

“Oh. You’re still...” Ferdinand sighed. He made to hold my hips, reaching for the button of my trousers, but I held his wrist.

“No,” I cooed, finally pulling my hands from him.

I took a moment to appreciate the tableau of sin before me. His tanned legs lay lying upon the bed to the left of him, half-way curled to his chest, fine copper hairs caught in the golden lamp light. His plush rear framing perfectly that loose puckered hole. His spine curving to where he lay with his upper back upon the bedclothes, his soft chest blushing forth, nipples hardened in the cooling air. The cut of his jaw, and the fairest lips, parted slightly, kiss stained. And finally his amber eyes, a question blooming in their depths.

“Yes?” he supplied.

“Turn over.”

He smiled and gave a long sumptuous stretch, flexing from fingertips to toes, relinquishing a sweet trill of satisfaction. He made a surreptitious swipe of his hand to clear from his chest, a modicum of drying semen, before flipping over, hugging the pillow beneath his head, and finding my gaze once again.

“You’ve been uncharacteristically quiet,” I remarked.

“Enjoying the view,” he hummed.

“Close your eyes, then.”

I rolled to my knees, looming over Ferdinand, and combed a hand through my mussed hair while undoing another button at my collar. Tantalisingly, I reached down and undid the fly of my trousers, pulled my dampened drawers aside, and sighed as my sore cock sprung forth. Ferdinand exhaled a sigh of approval, canting his hips in supplication.

“On your knees,” I bid him, “Hold yourself open.”

The line of his back quivered, and he shifted to his knees with a barely contained agitation. He let his face upon the pillow as his hands came up to firmly cup each cheek, handsome fingers splayed wide, gently pulling apart, his gaping hole presented shamelessly, sublimely. I stroked my weeping cock, hips rolling, thrilling from the base of my spine to the bottom of my gut with a heady need. I navigated around the fly of my trousers as I aligned myself with Ferdinand, tip hovering just out of reach, so close that I could feel the fevered heat radiating from him. He whined loudly with impatience but did not move a fraction, and I rewarded him with one powerful thrust, sinking my entire length into his supple cavity with the barest effort. He keened, stomach dipping low into the bed, desperate fingers making indentations in the pale flesh of his behind. I held his thighs in place, pulling out to the very tip, to plunge again to the hilt. I became intoxicated by the obscene wet noises from his dripping hole, and the muted clap of skin on cloth. I kept this agonising rhythm until Ferdinand’s hands fell to the bed, twisting in the bedclothes. He moaned with abandon, half formed entreaties of _more, harder, faster –_ and the mere thought of his pure pleasure served only to heighten my own.

Pearls of sweat beaded on his back, down the bare nape of his exposed neck. I was sure I had never in my life seen a more beautiful sight than this. Than him, naked and prostrate before me, filled completely with my hardened cock, overflowing at just the thought of me, senseless and wild and writhing. I reached around to his front, found his small length nearly to fullness for the second time that night, and gave him two hard pulls, milking him as he gasped breathlessly. He tightened painfully around me, and my metered thrusts faltered a moment as I lost myself to the constricting heat. I felt nearly at my limit, dying for release but wishing desperately for this moment to never end.

I touched lovingly at the abused rim of Ferdinand’s hole with the pad of my thumb, dipping so slightly in where my thrusting cock caught at the edges. Increasingly, I pushed my digit in, massaging the supple flesh there and enticing it to open further for me, but the weight in my gut grew too immediate to prolong. I took hold of his hips and altered my deliberate pace to one ruthless and exacting, throwing my weight bodily onto Ferdinand. He sobbed in ecstasy at the newfound pressure inside him, muffling himself in the depths of the pillow, hips rutting fiercely in time with mine. On my knees, my head bowed, I gasped his name and cursed a reverent prayer into his body.

My arms nearly trembling with effort, I put a hand to his throat, the other scooping under a shoulder, and hefted him up to my chest to seat him in my lap. He grabbed for the back of my neck, scrabbling for purchase as he impaled himself upon me, again and again, legs convulsing with his indulgence, swollen cock bouncing against his taut stomach. I delighted in the bob of his throat under my palm as he panted, the roiling of his pulse at my fingertips, and the way he could not help but draw me closer into him, as though we might overlap completely.

I could not say how long we twisted there, a single moment extended out into endlessness.

And then the moment was over, and Ferdinand fell forward, spilling over himself, untouched and with a violent cry, babbling nonsense and praise, and then my name, over and over as I rode him through his orgasm, through the crashing waves of my own. And I came in the deepest parts of him, staining his soul, surely, with the evidence of my devotion.

We collapsed to the bed, panting in unison, until our breathing calmed, until that powerful feeling of release had subsided, until the room was quiet again. I put a hand to his belly, curling around him, a possessive quirk wholly unnecessary without an onlooker to contend my endearment. Still sheathed within Ferdinand, and cradling him close to my chest, I filled my lungs with his scent, my mind with the gentle sound of his breathing. I felt as though I were suspended in a great calm depths, no barrier between myself and the infinite shifting waters. Drifting in this enduring intimacy, a tender peacefulness settled in the empty places of my consciousness. I had nearly drifted off when a voice called me back.

“The bedclothes are filthy,” he crackled, clearing his throat.

“I’ll clean them in the morning.”

“And I think, I should like another bath.”

“Hmm, I’ll clean you in the morning.”

“But I am sticky.”

“You’ll be sticky in the morning,” I rumbled with a tired roll of my hips. Ferdinand reached back a hand and slapped my left ass cheek.

“No more of that, Mr. Vestra.”

I chuckled into the dip of his shoulder blades, holding him tight. He seemed too weary to pull his hand back to himself, leaving its weight crossed over my hip. I took it, intertwining our fingers and drawing them down to his stomach. In the flickering orange light of the low lamp, I fell into a grateful sleep, and dreamt no dreams that night.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr/twitter: woefulpotatoes
> 
> edit: skimming over this several months later, I can't believe I fell for the Convenient Bottle of Oil trope, but to be fair to myself, if anyone would have a suspiciously convenient vial of oil concealed on their person, it would be Hubert


End file.
